Their shoulders rubbed against each other from time to time, but Cal never objected, and Zeke didn’t move away.
He didn’t know what to make of that. He truly didn’t, but he liked the sense of camaraderie between them. And that he liked the nearness of Cal for reasons he could not explain. But there was nobody to explain himself too, so he tucked those feelings away and focused on what he did have: the warm, glowing fire, the company of hardworking men, the stars above. And Cal at his side.
Chapter 14
Cal
Zeke probably knew more about Cal than anyone in the world, except maybe Preston. And that included how much Cal did not want to attend the counseling session on Saturday afternoon.
“That counselor is an idiot,” said Cal.
He didn’t know that this particular counselor was an idiot, of course, but he had enough experience with counseling sessions while in prison to figure it would be a waste of time.
“Micha is a good counselor. He’s good at what he does,” said Zeke, a little more sternly than Cal was used to. “It’s good to discuss things with someone other than your team lead. And it’s good for you to hear the concerns of other parolees. So you’re going.”
Cal knew he was pouting, but couldn’t stop. HadPrestonseen that pout—No.
Zeke would never smack him for pouting the way Preston sometimes had, but he forced his mind out of that rut and into the current moment. Zeke and him standing on the steps of the mess tent after lunch.
They were on the verge of an argument, or at the very least a disagreement, while all around the parolees eased past them, not even moving very far out of the way to avoid them.
It was as if the tone of their disagreement came across as quite mild and nothing to worry about. Just like everything else in the valley. Mild. Nothing to worry about.
“Okay,” said Cal, not really meaning it. He’d go through the motions and that was it.
“And?” asked Zeke. He tipped his head to one side and lowered his chin. Maybe in an effort to appear harmless, but which was absolutely disarming.
Which was part of the problem because if the counselor asked if the parolees had anything to share, Cal might have a thing or two to bring up.
Not that he’d say he had a crush on Zeke, he wouldn’t go that far. But he’d raise the issue. Maybe make a joke about falling in love with your teacher, which maybe none of the other parolees would understand. But he could study their reactions and figure out if he was the only one.
Then again, he’d seen Galen and Bede flirting at the campfire only the night before. He’d seen them in the mess tent, sitting way too close and getting all handsy with each other.
Even now as he watched a tall guy, whose name might be Marston, bidding a fond farewell to—who was it, Kelly or someone?—as if they’d not seen each other in eons and wouldn’t see each other again for a century or more.
Maybe the lovey dovey stuff was going onallaround him. In which case, the only objection to how Cal felt would be from Zeke himself.
Or maybe Cal should just write off how he felt about Zeke as a mild crush that would pass in time. After one week? How quickly could feelings grow between two people anyhow?
He’d not imagined that moment in his tent, though. When he’d comforted Zeke through what looked like a horrible leg cramp from his leg being busted by a horse.
When he’d wiped the sweat from Zeke’s neck, Zeke hadn’t pushed his hand away. Then again, Zeke had maybe been in too much pain to think of anything but getting through the pain.
And then after? Zeke had leaned toward Cal, slowly and softly, like he’d wanted to give Cal a kiss of thanks. Something friendly and sweet. Had Zeke even been aware? Or had it been Cal’s imagination?
Zeke had certainly jerked back as though Cal’s touch, his mere nearness, had been a lake of lava.
“And?” Zeke asked again.
“I’ll try, sure,” said Cal. “I hated counseling sessions in prison. They were a waste of time.”
“I think you’ll find the sessions here can be useful,” said Zeke. “That’s what I hear, anyway.”
“Okay,” said Cal because, really, if Zeke wanted him to go, then he was going.
Cal sat through the counseling session on a folding chair set in a circle and did his best not to roll his eyes when Micha was constantly and terribly upbeat and cheerful. Or when one guy, Wayne, was complaining about Beck dousing the fire with gasoline?—
“It was lighter fluid,” said Jonah, and he did roll his eyes. “Just lighter fluid, man.”
